


After Lunch

by siephilde42



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley's connection to the stars, Don't copy to another site, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, No mention of genitalia, Non-Sexual Intimacy in last chapter, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-09 06:31:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20990399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siephilde42/pseuds/siephilde42
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley discuss what they could do now that they are free, arriving at a surprising (or maybe not so surprising) answer.





	1. Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> Usually, in my stories, I like to leave it to the reader whether the ineffable husbands engage in sexual intimacy or not, which is why I usually fade to black after the first kiss. This is my take on what happens after the first kiss if you do not fade out :) I wrote this story mostly for myself.
> 
> If you want to stick to non-sexual intimacy, just skip the second chapter (The kiss is in the first chapter). I think the second chapter is rather mature than explicit, but I wanted to play it safe regarding the rating.

"What do you want to do now?", Crowley asks.

Aziraphale frowns, pouring himself another glass of Château Lafite. "How do you mean?"

"I mean, we could do anything we want now. Now that we have Heaven and Hell off our backs", the demon smirks.

The angel takes a gulp, not taking off his eyes from Crowley while doing so. He puts down the glass and nods. "True. What did _you _have in mind?"

"Uh...", Crowley hesitates, then breaks into a wide grin, a grin which is obviously strained (at least, to Aziraphale, it is. After 6,000 years, you notice such things). "You know, we could do a road trip in the Bentley. You causing small nuisances along the way and me working small miracles everywhere. Just to annoy our former employers."

"Hmm, yes", Aziraphale mumbles, lost in thought. "Or we could kiss."

"Well, that's another pos... what." The demon almost drops from the couch armrest he has been cowering on. " ... ... ... WHAT did you just say, angel."

"Oh. Did I say this out loud? ... I must have drunk more than I thought." The angel focuses, forcing the liquid back in the bottle. "I'm ... I'm sorry I said that. ... Just forget it, would you?"

"All... all right", Crowley replies, strangled. He follows suit, fully sobering himself up. "Of course", he says, giving a helpless wave with his hand.

For some minutes, awkward silence hangs in the air.

"Anyway", Aziraphale breaks the silence, "about that road trip. It does sound good. Where to, did you think?"

Crowley exhales. "Well. What about Paris?" The moment the name escapes from his lips he regrets saying it. _(__Paris. City of Love. Of all possible destinations. Stupid. Stupid demon.) _

Against his expectations, the angel's face lightens up. "Paris... You know, that does sound nice. We could have crepes again."

Memories flash before Crowley's eyes. Aziraphale in shackles, waiting to be executed. (_Bloody idiot.) _

The demon swallows. "Yeah. So it's settled, then. What do you want to see in Paris, angel?"

"The Louvre would be nice, I think."

"Yeah. Say hello to the final version of Mona. Why not", Crowley answers, trying to sound casual.

"And the Eiffel Tower, of course", the angel adds, beaming at him.

A vision pops up in Crowley's mind. A beautiful sunset over Paris. The both of them standing on the platform, stepping closer to each other and... (_Stop. Stop.) _He ducks away to hide his blush, but he knows that it is too late and the angel has already seen.

"Crowley."

When Crowley looks up he realises that Aziraphale's cheeks are pink too.

"I... you know", the angel stammers, "I was serious when I said... even if I didn't mean to say it out loud... if I'm making any sense at all..."

Slowly, the demon answers. "I... believe you do, angel." He breaks off, just staring at Aziraphale for a while. He clears his throat. "So, if I'm understanding you right, you want to... to..."

"Only if you want", Aziraphale adds, hastily.

Crowley looks at him in disbelief. He throws back his head and cackles. "_If _I want, he asks. The bloody angel asks me if..." His laughter dies, and he looks at Aziraphale for a minute, very still, before he leans forward with a swift movement and presses their lips together.


	2. Entangled

Some moments later, Crowley finds his lap somewhat occupied. He is not sure why that surprises him. (_I should have known, shouldn't I? You're definitely the bigger hedonist out of us both. Not that I'm complaining.) _

The angel has already removed Crowley's scarf and is covering his neck with kisses, as well as the small part of his chest lying bare now. The touch of his lips is light, almost not noticeable. And it drives Crowley mad, this sensation. So casual, yet with a meaning he has been longing for for ages.

"Angel", he croaks, "as much as I like your couch, I'd suspect that humans would prefer other items of furniture for... uh, that is, if I'm reading your intentions right..."

This time it is Aziraphale who bursts out into laughter. "I'm pretty sure you are. And you're right." With a smile, he snaps his fingers, miracling a bedroom above the bookshop into being and teleporting them into said bedroom.

"Rose leaves and scented candles? _Really_, angel?", the demon asks in a tone which is supposed to be mocking.

"Oh, just adding some more frivolous miracles to the list to annoy them", Aziraphale replies while unbuttoning Crowley's shirt. He caresses Crowley's upper body with kisses and starts to remove the trousers too.

"That's quite unfair, you know", Crowley whispers. "I want to see you too, but you're still all covered up."

At this, the angel grimaces. "If you really want."

"Of course I want to. Why wouldn't I... What is it, angel?"

Aziraphale makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. "You, you always look like a model, you know. A model for sculptures and paintings." (The demon has, in fact, acted as a model for more art works that he can remember, so this assessment is quite accurate.) "Whereas I... Well, I'm soft." He is now looking down at his hands, which are positioned over his belly in a defensive manner.

Crowley raises his eyebrows. "You say that as if it is a bad thing."

"Isn't it?", the angel asks, looking up.

"No. No", the demon responds, irritated. "Who put that silly idea in your head?"

Aziraphale lowers his eyes again. "Would rather not say his name right now. Don't want to ruin the mood."

"Ah. I see." (_If I ever see this violet-eyed bastard again...) _"In that case, let's stop talking and free you from your layers of clothes, angel." He chuckles and tugs at Aziraphale's waistcoat.

When Aziraphale is fully undressed (which has taken some time), he pushes Crowley down - firmly, but gently - and starts covering him with kisses again.

Crowley shivers, pressing back against him. His voice is hoarse when he speaks up. "Angel. Would you..."

"If that's what you want, my dear."

"Oh, yes", Crowley replies under his breath.

At this, Aziraphale leans on Crowley with the whole of his weight and starts moving.

"A...angel", Crowley rasps when Aziraphale's lips graze his shoulder and neck. The angel still smells of wine, with a hint of figs and almonds.

Aziraphale has stopped his lower body movement for a bit to kiss Crowley again.

"More, please. Don't stop", the demon begs.

"As you wish, my dear."

Crowley cries out. "Oh _God_, yes. Can you do that again?" (Aziraphale decides against commenting on this utterance.)

Of course Aziraphale can, and the demon cries out again.

Black wings unfurl themselves with a violent jerk. Shortly after, a pair of white wings follows.

"How was that?", Aziraphale asks, softly.

Crowley's voice shakes. "A...amazing, angel." Tears are running down his cheeks.

"But you're crying."

"Just... just overwhelmed, is all. ... They are so beautiful. Your wings", he says with a whisper, reaching for them.


	3. Hold Me

"Your wings are beautiful, too", Aziraphale says, running his fingers through shimmering black feathers.

Crowley scoffs. "No. No, they are not."

"But they..."

"_No_", Crowley snaps. "They are hideousss. Just like my eyesss."

"Nonsense", the angel protests. "Your eyes are the most beautiful thing about you."

Crowley rolls over on his side, retracting into himself. "No. They were once beautiful. Black irises, mottled with blues and greens and purples and flecks of white and gold. Like maps of nebulae and galaxies." He laughs, not pleasantly. "You know, because I actually _made _some of them. Back when I was..." His voice trails off. 

"Crowley..."

The demon ignores him, speaking up again, his voice bitter. "Now they are just a caricature of that. Snakelike eyes."

"And I love them in their snake form. But, Crowley..."

There is a urgency in Aziraphale's voice which finally causes Crowley to turn back and face the angel again. "Yes?", he asks, weary.

"My dear, your pupils have been very dilated for a while now, and I can see..."

"What?"

"Well, you should look for yourself", the angel replies, miracling up a wall mirror.

With reluctance, Crowley gets up and walks over. Upon looking at the reflecting surface, he gasps. "They... they are still there. The... the star maps", he stammers, in disbelief.

"Yes. Hidden in your pupils, all the time."

Something in Crowley's chest rises. More than 6,000-year old pain of feeling lost and expelled makes its way, causing him to sob. He cannot stop crying for a long time.

And Aziraphale is there to hold him.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> The last chapter is an adaptation of the lovely eyes headcanon in the following Twitter thread by @goodcrowmens: https://twitter.com/goodcrowmens/status/1166539737626288134?s=11


End file.
